


Thoughts Get In The Way II

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Love/Hate, Masturbation, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-11
Updated: 2006-09-11
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A lack of satisfaction in the Marital Bed leaves Ron Weasley wanting to chuck it in. How will Hermione take that?





	Thoughts Get In The Way II

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: This is a re-invisioning of the original "Thoughts Get In The Way" by Harry'smom, archived at Checkmated. This version was written with Harry'smom approval, and submitted with her permission.  


* * *

Thoughts Get in the Way  
By alloy & Harrysmom.  
  
"I’m thinking of chucking it all in."  
  
"What?" Harry looked up from his beer.  
  
"Giving it up." Ron leant back, his manner far too casual for Harry’s liking.  
  
"But the Cannons are doing so well. Plus there’s always that England slot. Fitzpatrick’s going to retire soon, and you’re next in line."  
  
"Not talking about Quidditch, Harry. I love Quidditch! They’ll be dragging me off the broom when I turn one hundred."  
  
"Then what?" Harry asked. "What are you chucking in?"  
  
"Sex."  
  
"What!" Harry shifted uncomfortably. Weasleys, all Weasleys loved sex. Hot, loud, sticky, sweaty sex. Harry had the scratches on his back from Ron’s sister Ginny to prove it.   
  
"It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Harry. It’s not the be all and end all of everything."  
  
Harry felt a chill come over his heart, a hidden fear he had harboured since he’d first notice his two best friends begin their courtship dance.   
  
"You’re chucking Hermione?" Harry looked shocked.  
  
"What? Don’t be barmy. I love Hermione."  
  
"But if you’re chucking sex, won’t she have something to say about it?"  
  
"Don’t reckon so. Reckon she might be a bit relieved."  
  
"Ron…"  
  
"She’s got a little Muggle toy. Seems to do the job better than I can."  
  
Harry felt intensely uncomfortable. He and Ron had never discussed sex in any fashion. It had just never seemed proper given the platonic love each of them had for the other’s partner. But this seemed different, almost a plea for help. "How do you know?" he asked.  
  
"She waits until I’m asleep, but…"  
  
Harry couldn’t help leaning forward. "But?"  
  
"She calls my name when she comes," Ron looked over at Harry and whispered, "Wakes me up."   
  
Ron forced a wane smile on his face as the Three Broomsticks’ new proprietor, Seamus Finnigan, appeared with fresh drinks.  
  
Seamus glanced at Ron as he took Harry’s money. "That smile says woman trouble, Weasley."  
  
Ron’s eyes narrowed.  
  
"The Problem with your bird, Weasley..." Seamus began. Harry tensed, seeing Ron’s knuckles turn white as he grasped his beer. Seemingly oblivious to the possibility of his sudden and violent death, Seamus continued, "is that she’s a thinker."   
  
Harry tensed. Seamus wasn’t always his favourite person as he did have a tendency to stick his opinions in but he didn’t want Ron’s route to abstinence to be via Azkaban.  
  
Seamus fingered a nasty scar on his forearm. "Don’t like to talk ill of a witch who’s saved my life, but Hermione’s problem is she never stops thinking." Seamus laughed and clapped his hand on Ron’s shoulder. "But I didn’t have to tell you that, mate." And then he was off to the bar.  
  
Harry tried to evaluate the slightly bemused look on his friend’s face. "Ron?"  
  
"You know, Harry, for the first time since I’ve known him, that drunken Irishman might just be right."  
  
*  
  
Hermione walked reluctantly into their flat. She wasn’t sure if Ron was home yet, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Ron to be home. It was all going wrong, and it was all her fault.   
  
She and Ron had been virgins when they married, they were each other’s first and only lovers. On their wedding night while Ron had been nervous and clumsy, he had also been gentle and considerate. Hermione had not experienced orgasm, but truthfully she hadn’t expected to. It had been a pleasant and intimate moment, She had been perfectly satisfied, confident that the fireworks would come later. Only they never had.  
  
At first her inability to climax had seem to inspire Ron, to challenge him, and he had become an even more attentive partner. But even as the many ways in which he expressed his loved overwhelmed her, climax remained elusive.   
  
It was something that Hermione just couldn’t understand. When she masturbated, the heel of her hand and her fingers could rack her body with pleasure. It was the image of her husband she wanked to. Hard, hot, and sweaty from Quidditch, his cock hard in her cunt, his teeth nipping her breasts, a man chasing his own pleasure, sowing his seed, fucking! Only the real Ron didn’t fuck her. The real Ron made sweet, gentle love, and Hermione spent an eternity analyzing his caresses, cataloging his kisses, and counting the number of thrusts it took him to come.   
  
He had started wanking too, sneaking off to the bathroom while she read or prepared her reports for work. She had stood outside the door, listening to the muffled sounds, crying as he gasped her name, watching as he surreptitiously replaced his battered Yule Ball photo of her in his drawer of keepsakes.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath and stepped into their kitchen. Automatically she glanced at the fridge, their unofficial notice board. Hermione had started it by placing a note pad on the fridge, and Ron had responded with a collection of magnets. Some were just plain letters that he would use to spell out a message, while others bore their own message, such as "urgent," or "FYI," or "Read me." The system generally worked quite well, though Ron had an annoying habit of placing outstanding bills under the "Read Me" magnet with total confidence that she would attend to it.  
  
There was something under it now, along with a variety of arrows pointing to the fridge handle.  
  
Hermione shook her head. It was probably a bill for something he had already eaten. Ignoring the message, she made her way through to the bedroom to find her husband packing a bag.  
  
Hermione paused in the shadows of the passage. Ron was humming, moving in the energized fashion he always did when he had decided on a course of action.  
  
"Ron," she said tentatively.  
  
"’Mione."   
  
Her heart lightened a little, he hadn’t called her by that endearment in weeks.  
  
"Come sit." Ron patted the bed next to him as he sat down. "I’ve made a decision."  
  
Hermione felt her eyes water even as she shuffled into the room and sat down on the space he cleared for her.  
  
"I think you’ll agree it’s better for both of us."  
  
"Ron, please…"  
  
He cleared his throat and sighed. "We both know I don’t satisfy you."  
  
"Ron…"  
  
"Shshh." Ron placed a finger on her lips.   
  
"We need to be honest about this. It’s selfish of me to just use you."  
  
"I don’t mind, Ron. Honestly. I don’t"  
  
"But I do." Ron cupped her head in his big hands. "Merlin knows I love you." He kissed her then, a gentle Judas kiss. "But I think we should chuck it in."  
  
Hermione felt his rough fingers gently wipe away the tears as her mind raced, desperately trying to escape the box he had put her in.   
  
_Chuck it in._ Her marriage over. Was there someone else? No! He wouldn’t have wanked if there was, called her name. Unfaithful husbands don’t wank, they don’t need to.  
  
It was so brave. Her poor, sweet, brave Gryffindor, her Ron, who tried so hard.   
  
She remember coming home early, hearing his voice call her name, the muffled noises, the obscene endearments that he never said to her face, the hard grunt as he came. She remembered the smell of his sex when next she went into the room, how wet it made her, how hard she came.  
  
"Fuck me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Like when you wank. Fuck me like that, like you want to."  
  
"Hermione…"  
  
"Shut up." His red face and ears told of either embarrassment or anger. Hermione didn’t care.  
  
She placed one hand over his mouth as she undid his belt buckle with the other.  
  
"Just this one last time." She changed the tone of her voice, inducing a biting ring of sarcasm. " **If** you can get up."  
  
He pulled her hand from his mouth as his trousers pooled around his feet. The flush was anger, but she didn’t need to look down to know he was hard.  
  
"I’m trying to do the right thing, Hermione."  
  
"Then for once just do something without regret!"  
  
His grip was hard now, hurting her wrist. "No regrets, Hermione!"  
  
"No Regrets, Ronald!"  
  
"FINE." He ripped her light skirt off her, the elastic of the waistband burning a mark in her flesh.  
  
Hermione gasped as his fingers found her clit, pressing hard through her damp knickers.  
  
"Do you know how hard I work for this?" he said, pressing even harder.  
  
"Not hard enough," she replied through gritted teeth.  
  
"FUCK!"  
  
In a flash his hand was inside her panties, his fingers inside her, and unbidden she arched into them.  
  
Hermione’s nipples were hard, and somehow Ron undid her shirt and bra, his hard calloused fingers pinching at her breasts, the mixture of pain and pleasure racing down her body to meet that from her cunt, pooling in her stomach, in her core.  
  
"No regrets," Ron said again, and her knickers vanished.  
  
Like a ragdoll he spun her around, pushing her face down into the woolen bedspread. Hermione almost screamed as the roughly knitted knots abraded her nipples.  
  
She shuffled onto the bed, bringing her knees up under either side of her stomach, leaving herself exposed, so exposed.  
  
There was a large hand on her buttocks, even as Ron inserted a thumb into her cunt. She felt the hand spread her cheeks, felt his fingers tease her anus.  
  
 _Oh god_ , she thought. Had she angered him that much? _Not there_. She desperately didn’t want their relationship to end in this humiliation.  
  
"No regrets." Ron grunted and she felt him remove his hand from her cunt. It would be on his cock, guiding it. Hermione felt the tears form in her eyes, tried to compose herself, tried to relax while waiting for the final act that would destroy her marriage.  
  
Then Ron plunged his cock into her cunt.  
  
Hermione arched with relief and stabbing pleasure. Ron had both hands on her hips, pistoning in and out of her.  
  
"Fuck," he said again as she abandoned herself to the climax that suddenly overwhelmed her, pulsing around the cock that seemed to full her body.   
  
And then it happened again, and again, and each time Ron swore and buried himself in her so that she felt the tickle of his pubic hair against her buttocks. Then he would piston again, driving renewed pleasure to her core, renewed abrasion to her nipples, such that she thought it would never end.  
  
"’Mione," he said.  
  
And then she felt the warmth, the warmth erupting from his impossibly larger, impossibly harder cock. Ron emptied himself like she had never felt before.  
  
Hermione tried to shuffle forward onto the bed proper, but Ron’s hands on her hips stopped her.  
  
"I’m not finished," he growled as he began to pump pleasure into her again, and Hermione abandoned all thought except for the moment.  
  
In the end he crawled up next to her on the bed, putting his arms around her possessively, his cock, a poor, pathetic imposter of its former self, resting comfortably in the small of her back.  
  
"Don’t leave me," Hermione said. "We can make it work."  
  
Ron’s silence caused a pain in her heart and she moved to try and escape him, but even in the languid aftermath of sex he was too strong for her.  
  
Then he spoke. "I would never leave you."  
  
"But you said… I saw the bags…" She was crying now. "You said you were chucking it in."  
  
"Oh Merlin, not our marriage, ‘Mione!" His strong arms hugged her almost to crushing.   
"I was talking about sex. I’d never fuck again just so long as I had you by my side. But I’d never give you up, never!"  
  
"But the bags, why are you packing your bags?"  
  
"Didn’t you see the note on the fridge? Fitzpatrick’s retired. We’re going to Romania. I left the champagne chilling in the fridge."  
  
"Oh Ron, I didn’t read it! I came straight through and saw the bags, and then you said… I thought—"  
  
"Ah well, there’s the problem, Hermione. You’re the cleverest witch of our age and most days I can’t believe that you agreed to be with me, but sometimes, just sometimes…" Ron’s voice trailed off as he looked at her.

  
"Thoughts get in the way." 


End file.
